


Fairytales Are for Muggles

by AWickedMemory (ReadyPlayerZero)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Crack, Crack, HP: EWE, M/M, Magical Bond, creature!fic (kind of), more like Harry has been cursed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReadyPlayerZero/pseuds/AWickedMemory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Draco Malfoy expected to do as he walked home from a late night at work was trip over Harry Potter. [<i>A Christmas Creature Bonding Story</i>] {<b>H/D Owlpost 2013 for</b> <i>singlemomsummer</i>}</p><p>Translation in <a href="http://hpkizi.sk/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=4337">Czech</a> available by LadyF!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairytales Are for Muggles

**Author's Note:**

> For [singlemomsummer](http://singlemomsummer.livejournal.com/).
> 
> A silly combination of several of your kinks - I hope you like it, [singlemomsummer](http://singlemomsummer.livejournal.com/)! Happy holidays!  
> Many thanks to [Marianne](http://eidheann_writes.livejournal.com/) for helping me put my vague thoughts into a proper concept and letting me whinge at you! - _mwah_ -  
> Many thanks to [Jen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Duomi) for the preliminary beta, and [Keichan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gonnaplotz) for a final beta! You are my grammar queen, darling!

/ _there's gonna be a happy ending_ /  
/ _but that's only the beginning_ /  
/ _this ain't no fairy tale_ /  
\- Jim's Big Ego, "Prince Charming"

 

**22 December 2007, Saturday**

The last thing Draco Malfoy expected to do as he walked home from a late night at work was trip over Harry Potter.

In his defense, it was nine o'clock, dark as pitch, and the precipitation insisted on being some schizophrenic combination of rain, hail and snow so he'd had no idea somebody was there at all, much less who it was.

Also in his defense, this somebody was knocked out cold, unrecognizably face-down on the pavement, head-to-toe in shredded black robes, and _oh, yes_ , sporting fur over his face, a mane over his neck, and a long, hairy tail that Draco was _positive_ humans did not ordinarily possess.

" _Son of a witch!_ " he swore, engaging in an impressively acrobatic bit of footwork to regain his balance after stumbling over the dark, drenched mound. The swear was promptly followed by a stronger one when said mound made a distressingly human sound and shifted.

Now, let it never be said that Draco Malfoy was not a coward. He preferred the term "survivalist," but either way, the point was that he was not brave. To be fair, the last time he saw a mysterious figure half-alive and hunched over in the dark, it turned out to be an evil wizard living in his professor's skull and making sweet gastronomic love to a dead unicorn; these sorts of things left an _impression_. Therefore, it was no surprise that his instincts said, " _Move. Go. Flee. Hello? HELLO. INSTINCTS TO MALFOY. MOVE YOUR SEXY ARSE NOW._ "

Ordinarily, he was very good at listening to his cowardly—ahem, _survivalist_ —instincts and legging it away from a potentially nasty situation. He did, after all, pride himself on being quite practical. This time, however, something—perhaps all of the Christmas in the air, perhaps a momentary lapse in sanity—made him pause.

"Hey there. You—are you all right?" he asked tentatively.

It was debatable which he feared more: silence (indicating Mr. Mysteriously Furry was too far gone for him to do anything about) or an answer (thus making Mr. Mysteriously Furry his problem). Because while Draco Malfoy always had been and always would be ~~a coward~~ survivalist, he _had_ done a bit of growing up and growing human since the war, and with all this growing this way and that way, he'd gone and grown something resembling a conscience. And having someone die on his watch? Well, that was just not on.

Especially when that someone pitifully lifted his head and squinted at him through broken coke bottle glasses with frighteningly familiar eyes.

And dropped his head again as a series of convulsions rippled through his ragged, oddly shaped form.

And rasped out, "H... elp...."

Damn.

 

**23 December 2007, Sunday**

It was well past midnight by the time Draco managed to lug his sopping burden to the Apparition point and side-along him home, kvetching all the while. Everything from how damn heavy Potter was to how much he reeked of mud and water and something suspiciously sanguine to the fact that he was still sporting those damn hideous spectacles—not one good thing came out of his mouth the whole way.

Of course the moment he was in the door a house elf was there, summoning him to the parlour. Parents had _such_ a knack for being forever inconvenient at the worst of times. Still, orders were orders, and he hadn't been raised to ignore a summons. Swearing, Draco dumped Potter in the entryway—he was unconscious anyway; it wasn't as though he would remember it—and went to go find his mother. 

"Mimsy says you've brought something home. You didn't put off Christmas shopping this long, did you?" Narcissa greeted her cranky son, frowning disapprovingly as he dripped ick onto the new rug and wide awake despite the hour. ( _Mothers._ )

"Not unless you wanted a cursed Auror for Christmas," Draco returned as he perched carefully against the arm of a couch and reached gratefully for the cup of tea Mimsy offered. "I'm debating calling a healer, letting him sleep it off, or hexing him conscious."

"Don't hex the guests," Narcissa chided. "I'll have Wimbly set up a guest room for your Auror. Go get changed, for Mordred's sake; you've got an image to uphold."

"I'm unconvinced image is so important when it's only you, Father, and Potter," Draco drawled as he rocked to his feet.

His mother gave him a startled look. It then became a suspicious look. It _then_ became a curiously smug— _oh so very smug_ ; why did she look so smug?—look. And then she opened her mouth.

Draco was practical. He was a good, obedient son. He also, however, knew his own damn mother painfully well, and he was ~~a coward~~ survivalist. Therefore, he took one look at the smug expression and the open mouth that indicated torment was about to follow, and he fled.

 

**24 December 2007, Monday morning**

Draco was just heading down the stairs toward breakfast when Wimbly appeared a few steps below. "The guest has woken, master," he announced, ears quivering as the blond paused.

Sighing, Draco turned right back around to head up again. "Damn. Well, bring up two trays of breakfast and let my parents know I'll see them at lunch." Waving the elf away, he went off to the guest room, knocked twice, and opened the door without waiting for a response. It was _his_ house, after all, and it wasn't as though he and Potter shared a long history of pleases and thank-yous.

He paused in the doorway, taking the opportunity to examine Potter now that he was cleaned up (thank Merlin for house elves, really; he did not envy them the task of grooming out that long tail) and awake. "Potter," he greeted with a curt nod.

"Mrrrruy," the miserably fluffy creature sitting in the bed replied. Wimbly had apparently taken the liberty of removing the dirty, tattered clothing from his person, as Potter was decidedly naked except for the brownish-grey fur covering most of his skin. Shoulders slumping, Potter pulled off his repaired glasses—and by "pulled off" it was more like "knocked from his face with a big, clumsy, gnarled hand"—before rubbing his eyes in frustration. "Wurr grhrmm?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Draco drawled. "I nearly tripped over you in the street and, in a lapse of sense, dragged you here rather than leave you to the flies. What in Merlin's name did you do to yourself?"

Potter glared at him, eyes narrowed dangerously as he let out a low growl. "R'g'hn!" he protested. "Yghnnn m'grr. Wuhrg trgnn dgrrr y'grrrfn mrrght rrrgm rrr mgrh—"

"—At The Quality Pub? Really?" Draco shot him a disbelieving look. "I find it difficult to believe a black market transfiguration ring worthy of Auror attention would meet somewhere so pathetic."

"Grrrwmrgh mrrghry rghrhr rrhg'yff rf."

"No, _really_? They actually—wait, isn't that the Muggle show about unicorns and pegasi?"

"Rhrrn?"

"Yes, of course, Potter. Whether I like Muggles or not, they have some frighteningly effective marketing strategies. Incidentally, Goyle collects merchandise for the pink and yellow one."

"Hrfrrr."

"Yes, Fluttershy, that's it." With that piece of information in mind, he eyed Potter speculatively again. Yes, that was _definitely_ a mane. His face wasn't the least bit equine, though; his nose and mouth protruded into a bit of a snout with a black canine nose. Besides that, however, for all it was covered in hair it still retained mostly humanoid features. "So _that's_ why you look like a half-centaur half-werewolf half-house elf."

"Hrgrr hrrfs."

"Shut up, I can have three halves if I want," Draco sniffed in what was most certainly not a petulant tone. He changed the subject gladly as one of the family elves popped into the room. "Look, here's some food. You haven't eaten in at least a day, so—"

" _Hgrhhh?!_ "

Draco cast him a scathing look for the interruption before rolling his eyes, following the house elf into the room. "Yes, Potter. It's the 24th, about half past eight. You've been unconscious since Saturday night at the latest," he confirmed, standing by the bed with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Mrrghrr fgrrrh mr?!"

"Why on earth would I let Shacklebolt know? We're not precisely rubbing elbows, you know," Draco scoffed. "Besides, for all I knew, Shacklebolt was the one who did this to you. You always did have a problem with authority—"

"Rghnn!"

"—so for all I knew he was trying to get rid of you. And yes, Potter, you did. Now hush and eat something before you make Wimbly cry." He uncrossed his arms and slapped Potter's hand sharply as the Auror tried pushing aside the fried mushrooms. "Don't even _think_ about it. This plate better be licked clean—not literally licked, you disgusting heathen, stop sticking your tongue out at me—or I'll have the owl eat your letter rather than deliver it."

"Rhrgrr."

" _Sigh_. The feeling's entirely mutual."

 

**24 December 2007, Monday afternoon**

Having escaped from playing host to break fast with his parents, Draco was on his way back to his room when he paused outside of Potter's door. There were noises coming from inside— _bedsheet_ noises, and huffs, and was that a groan?—and Draco scowled before shoving his way in. "Circe's cunt, Potter, if you're wanking in there—"

At the foot of the bed, he came to a stop. Potter didn't appear to be entertaining himself unless he possessed a curious interest in autoerotic asphyxiation, as he was presently bundled up tightly under all his blankets and sheets and what appeared to be at least two more sets of them. The entire massive bundle was also noticeably shivering.

Leaning over, Draco lifted up the blankets on one side and peered underneath. "Potter?"

A pair of glowing green eyes peered back, followed by a whimper.

Draco frowned. "Come again?"

"Hnnnnng."

"Sorry, I don't actually speak Specky Git-ese. Try that in English this time?"

"Hng _krrr_ , hgrnk!"

"Oh, is that all?" Huffing, he pulled out his wand and stuck the tip of it beneath the covers to cast a warming charm. He ignored Potter's alarmed growl and sudden scramble away at the appearance of his wand, expecting the stupid git to be paranoid (hello, _Auror_ ), but did not so much expect the heat that blasted back threefold from the bed, knocking his wand clear out of his hand (hello, _curse_ ).

Staring at his wand, then staring at the Potter-bundle, Draco shook his head and dropped the covers. "Still cold, I take it?"

"Rrrr."

Damn. What to do? Magic didn't work, their only pets were birds, and he certainly wasn't going to drag his parents into this. He supposed he could pile the bed with house elves, but they were twitchy, tiny, useless little things where magic and chores weren't concerned, and he couldn't help but think they'd do more harm than good.

"Right. Well, then."

First things first, Draco went to pick up his wand and place it on the nightstand. Next, he unpinned the brooch from his cravat, undid the cravat itself, and placed both with the wand. Going over to the other side of the bed, Draco gave his unhappy guest a nudge. "Budge up, Potter; the window side is mine."

For a confused moment there was no movement, presumably as Potter tried to figure out if Draco was suggesting what he _thought_ he was suggesting. When another violent shiver wracked his body, however, he let out a series of muttered, unflattering grumbles before scooting back over to the left side of the bed. Kicking off his shoes, Draco peeled back layer after layer of material once again, slipped underneath, paused to make sure he wasn't about to be thrown into a wall, and settled himself against the big, furry body already occupying the space.

At least Potter politely moved his tail out of the way.

Potter remained tense long enough for Draco to wonder if it was doing any good. It was just when he considered giving up and rising that his childhood rival wriggled around until he was facing Draco, curled his big, heavy, fuzzy limbs around the protesting blond, tucked his snout against his neck, and finally, _finally_ relaxed.

Draco sighed as he tolerated the shifting. "Done? Good. If you put any cold toes on me I will hex your feet off."

Potter made a pleased sort of hum before drifting off.

 

**24 December 2007, Monday evening**

By dinnertime owls had been sent to and received from Shacklebolt, Weasley (Mrs. Hermione), Weasley (Weasel), and Kreacher (what?). Draco had remained with Potter until the cursed chill subsided, at which point he'd slipped out to go have a minor panic attack at all of the fur, shower twice, and down a pot of tea with a dash or ten of Calming Draughts.

It was gone five when he returned to the room with a set of clothes in his hands. Finding Potter sitting up in bed as he pawed through a tome on human transfigurations, he deposited the clothing at the foot of the bed and went to snatch the book away, checking the edges to make sure the hairy oaf hadn't done any damage. "Mother says if you are still incapacitated and present by Christmas dinner tomorrow you are expected to be groomed, dressed, and at the table by four," he informed Potter absently as he frowned and picked neurotically at an invisible crease. "Luckily for you, we've outgrown our taste for crowded festivities, or you'd have all sorts of dignitaries nosing about up here."

Potter frowned.

Draco wasn't entirely sure how he knew that, given that Potter's facial composition at the moment was rather uncharacteristic of... well, humans. At least when he glared his eyes narrowed and got that brightly focused, intent, dangerous glint that could send shivers down any warm-blooded person's spine....

Ahem.

 _Still_ , he knew it all the same, and responded with a raised eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Wrr mry hrrgng grrr my'r grmrry?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Would you rather go uproot the Minister, Head Auror, or your Weasleys from their holiday meals? No? Well, then, you're stuck here, aren't you? As properly mannered citizens, we're not about to leave a guest stranded in his room whilst the rest of us feast. The elves always make far too much food anyway, and I _know_ you like to eat. Just try to look _some_ what civilised, won't you—as difficult as that may be for you even on a good day?"

Looking downright sheepish about his notorious appetite, Potter didn't argue this time. He did, however, spit out one last irritated "Rr gr'hrrr."

"I love you, too," Draco drawled sarcastically, going so far as to blow the behemoth on the bed a cheeky kiss before heading for the door.

He never made it. A jolt of something sharp and spicy shot through his chest, raced through his blood, and sent him dropping to the floor.

 

**25 December 2007, Tuesday morning**

Draco knew it was Christmas morning before he opened his eyes. He could hear the carols his mother insisted on playing all throughout the corridors starting at 6 A.M. sharp, and he could smell the cinnamon and ginger notes of a fresh batch of wassail flooding the Manor. He knew that the moment he stepped outside the door there would be pine and tinsel and baubles and bows up _everywhere_ , and he knew that his generally cold and forbidding home would be full of the warmth only the holiday season could bring.

He also knew that the gap in his memory between yesterday and now meant he was in for a _world_ of trouble. One did not simply miss Christmas Eve dinner with one's parents and expect to make it through the subsequent conversation in one piece.

Then again, it was probably safe to assume he was in for a world of trouble one way or another, seeing as how he definitely did not remember going to bed, but he was definitely tucked in—and he definitely did not remember going to bed _with somebody_ , but there was definitely a body lying next to his.

At least it was a human body.

 _Wait_....

"Can we save the fighting for another hour?" Potter asked wearily, not even bothering to roll over and face him properly.

"Fighting? What have you done now that would inspire fighting on Christmas morning? No—in fact, why am I _here_ Christmas morning?" Draco demanded imperiously. His voice was most certainly not shrill, and he was most certainly not panicked.

Most _certainly_.

Potter sighed heavily before rolling over. "It's more what _you_ did, really," he rasped, vocal chords strained from not being properly worked for several days.

Draco leveled a glare at him. Then, because he was a mature adult and not (generally) prone toward (unnecessary) sniping (...away from Potter, at least), he paused to actually think about what the hell the other man could mean by that.

And thought.

And thought.

The only thing he could come up with was so frustratingly _ridiculous_ that he gave up and shook his head. "Nope, I'm out. Short of playing Prince Charming to your Damsel in Distress, I've no idea what on earth I could have said or done to make you human again."

Potter eyed him guiltily.

 _Guiltily_.

"No."

Potter looked down and fidgeted nervously with the edge of the blanket ( _and good_ GOD _, he was nude, why was he nude, couldn't the bloody house elves bother to bring him something to sleep in now that he was human again?_ ).

" _No_ ," Draco repeated. "Really, Potter? _Really_? Of all the curses to be hit with—and of all the people to drag into your mess—"

"Hey, now! It's not as though I _asked_ you to drag me home—"

"And it's not as if you made any effort to leave!"

"If I'd known this would be the result—"

"Oh, going to blame me now, are you? That's the last time I act on my conscience, if it gets me saddled with _your_ ungrateful arse!"

"Merlin, Malfoy, it's not as though I _knew_ that was how to break the curse! How—"

"What sort of mad witch or wizard—"

"—was I supposed to know—"

"—would create a Sleeping Beauty curse—"

"—you were in love—"

"—that operates on—"

"— _with me_?"

"— _sarcasm_?"

They blinked at each other owlishly.

Ever the brave Gryffindor even years after leaving school, Potter spoke up first. "You're _not_ in love with me?"

Draco scowled. "Of _course_ not, you thick pillock! We've barely said ten words to each other in the last five years; how in Merlin's name would I be in love with you? Just because you turned out fit doesn't mean there's any _sentiment_ beneath a casual observation like that. That's not how real life works!"

"...You think I'm fit?"

Potter cringed a little under the blond's impatient glare before laughing weakly. "Sorry, I know, not the point. But, erm, I thought that was how these spells usually worked? True love's kiss and all that?"

Sighing, Draco sat up and rubbed his face. "Well, _obviously_ , somebody found a way around that. That much should be obvious, considering my words were _sarcastic_ and the damn kiss was _blown_. It must've been devised to be a harmless prank for adolescents to torment one another with. Actually, sounds like the sort of thing George Weasley would come up with, no?"

When Potter didn't respond, Draco peered at him through his fingers. The look of shock that greeted him sent a spark of panic through him again, and he lowered his hands. "What? What is it, what, _what_?"

Potter looked at his own hand, then back at Draco's. He pointed. "I don't remember that being there."

"What being _where_?" Draco snapped irritably as he looked down.

The golden ring around his left ring finger gleamed mockingly.

His stomach dropped.

He distantly heard Potter say, "Maybe not so harmless after all?" but his mind was already a million miles away, reeling from shock to horror to curiosity to dismay to being damn _impressed_ , honestly, that some Muggle-loving, pony-obsessed transfiguration ring had managed to create a spell like this, and then back to shock again because it really hadn't gotten enough time in that particular area.

At that moment, Draco wished he were a well-bred, high-class woman so he could have the excuse of having the vapours to pass the fuck out and gracefully flee from the entire situation. Not forever, of course—simply long enough to process it. Unfortunately, he was not, and the alternative coping method (getting thoroughly pissed) was not something he could afford to do so early on Christmas Day without earning himself a bollocking from an irate parent or two.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded firmly. He was a Malfoy; handling scandal was in his blood.

"All right. First things first, _you_ need clothes. I need about three pots of tea and a long conversation with my parents, and then we will contact the family solicitor to sort out any legal documents that need signing. You can keep a separate vault for now if you'd prefer, but ideally we'll eventually combine them. There is no way we're staying with my parents while sorting all this out, so we can move to one of our secondary or tertiary properties until I take over as head of the family—"

"Wait, _what_?" Potter interrupted, wide-eyed.

"—at which point we'll move here. Unless—you still own the Black house, don't you? Perfect, we can live there—"

"—Malfoy, what are you—"

"—and the only way you're getting any biological heirs is surrogacy or if _you_ want to figure out some magicked way to carry it. I'm not ruining my figure for anything."

That stopped Potter's protests short as he stared at the blond with a look crossed between horror, morbid fascination and constipation. Draco stared back before slowly arching one eyebrow expectantly.

Snapping out of his curious imaginings, Potter shook his head. "You're talking like we're getting _married_ or something. Surely there's a way out of this... this _this_." He flailed his newly ringed hand vaguely.

Draco gave him a supremely unimpressed look. "Really, don't you learn _anything_ in Auror training that's not related to Unforgivables? A magical bond is a form of an Unbreakable Vow. It automatically overrides and nullifies all other comparable contracts, including engagements, marriages, and—in the days of human slavery—ownership. I sincerely hope the gossip rags are right that you're single, since I'm not one to stand for extramarital affairs."

Potter's ears pinkened as he abruptly remembered his current state of undress. He self-consciously adjusted the blanket to cover up more of his chest before remembering, hello, he didn't have anything that needed covering. Letting the blanket drop again, he cleared his throat. "Are you implying we'll have _marital_ affairs?"

Very clearly considering that—and in some level of detail as the seconds ticked by and he scrutinised his bedmate carefully—Draco smirked. "Well. I _did_ say you were fit."

"Oh."

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

 

**Epilogue...**

True to his word, Draco did sort out the legalities of their situation, although it took closer to five pots of tea to do it. Christmas dinner was painfully awkward that first day as Narcissa nagged ~~Potter~~ Harry about his plans for children and Lucius stiffly tried to forget he existed.

Over the course of the year, they moved first into ~~Potter's~~ Harry's flat while renovating the Black house, then into the completed house three months later. The Weasleys were a great help as Arthur, Bill and Charlie—and yes, it generally took all of them—held an enraged Ron back from murdering Draco long enough for the house to be finished, and by that point Harry had decided that he actually kind-of-sort-of-maybe-just-a-little _liked_ the blond, so Ron gave up. Molly twisting his ear and grounding him despite his age helped as well.

Draco and Ginny unexpectedly bonded over exchanging embarrassing stories about Harry, and Draco and Hermione unexpectedly bonded over a shared love of arithmantic poetry. George and Luna gave Draco the strangest shovel speech ever (but then again, they were the strangest _couple_ ever, so nobody was really surprised), but they followed it up with a very nice gift basket, so that was all right. Draco and Percy never got along, but they developed the useful ability to never be in the same room together, so it worked out in the end.

Similarly, Harry and Lucius never came to see eye to eye on... well, anything, really. On the other hand, Narcissa took to doting on and fussing over Harry like a second son, and while he'd never admit it out loud, he liked that quite a bit.

(While Draco would never admit it out loud, he liked _watching_ it quite a bit as well. Harry got so fetchingly flustered whenever Narcissa fixed his collar and patted his cheek. In fact, Draco had a list of things that made Harry blush, and he made a hobby of resorting the list when bored. His favourite sorting criterion was by level of public acceptability, but sorting by shades of scarlet was fun, too. It was even more fun when Harry happened to walk into a room to see him perusing the list—especially as many of the items were accompanied by detailed descriptions and even a few illustrations. And if Draco happened to be caught with the list whilst naked, well, Harry certainly wasn't complaining.)

As for the transfiguration ring that started it all? They were caught and apprehended, had their wands snapped, and were exiled from the magical community. One simply did not get away with cursing the Saviour of the Wizarding World, after all. On the other hand, they were able to transition into Muggle life, meet fellow Bronies, and become active members of their local furry communities, so even they managed to live happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> For H/D Owl Post 2013 on LiveJournal [here](http://hd-owlpost.livejournal.com/58925.html).


End file.
